#nobody was hurt

[ssaalexblake]

Well, my day Was boring till a car caught fire and kind of blew up on my street and I’m now nostalgic for the boredom 🤷🏻‍♀️

[pansexual-potatoes]

A good chunk of our weeping willow came down during a rainstorm a few minutes ago. It took out a small portion of the back porch but missed the trunk hitting the house by a half inch. We got so lucky. There’s no broken windows, no damaged roof, not even the siding is messed up. The back porch can be fixed without our homeowners insurance going up and will give us the opportunity to put in a ramp for Franks grandma to use. The rest of the tree will be taken down probably on Wednesday.

[iapislazuli]

Guys I’m going to be so bare naked ass honest with you we had a house fire tonight and I was standing in the kitchen with the flaming stove reading the Wikipedia page for fire

[imthatpowerful]

something…kinda traumatic happened and i’m ok but like i can’t stop thinking about it and i tried sleeping but i can’t sleep bc all i can think abt is how it could’ve been so much worse and i have to sleep bc i have work at 6 in the morning and it’s currently 3:30 and ive been trying to sleep since 1:20 but i can’t so i guess ill js sleep when i get home from work bc i literally cant get myself to stop thinking abt it and i can’t get into a deep sleep

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.

[reds-skull]

My mom named one of the street cats she feeds Tommy, so I thought to myself, "what if..."

[thefloatingstone]

I'm ace and SUPER ace at that, but I have legit reached the point where I get extremely irritated every single time I see a youtuber or streamer make a snide, "that's so gross" comment about furries or how certain characters get a lot of hentai. I'm just over it. It's become so clear as an adult that that's just baby's first "sexual art that I don't understand is a crime" and I'm so over it.

Oh? Ankha from Animal Crossing is "really popular haha yikes"? Cool. Good. I'm glad. I hope she gets 1000 more art of her feet by the end of the day.

The new Pokemon grass starter is obvious furry bait? Awesome. There's a lot of them that like Pokemon. I'm glad they're getting fed. I hope they enjoy their new cat.

"They made this character overly sexy. Haha I'm not a furry tho" Me either but honestly that's simply due to skill issue on my part. idk what your problem is tho.

It's so fucking annoying and once you start noticing it, it's insane how often people will do this in videos and streams. Often because they think this is just how you're supposed to think of furries and haven't stopped to think if they're ACTUALLY put off by furries or if they're just repeating what they think is the common belief everyone automatically agrees with.

[worldwake]

One of my favourite boats caught fire 😢 I really hope it's okay and salvageable.. ugh

[drgnflyteabox]

a little continuation of this. john price x cashier fem!reader. verbal abuse, anxiety, yelling, hurt/comfort, price comes to your retail rescue<3<3 1.4k words

The only good part of a 5am wakeup is watching the sunrise slowly climb the sky.

There’s a quiet sort of tiredness that lets you appreciate it more — and though the lot associates have made a joke about the morning crew and their sunrise photos, there’s an element of truth there that’s both funny and a little beautiful.

It’s a drag to wait outside the doors for a manager to open them, trying not to make eye contact with the early-bird oldies and the impatient contractors who think they should just be allowed in before everyone else based on the amount of money they spend.

When the doors open and the 6am hardware warriors stroll in, ready and chipper, you’re half asleep leaning against your counter.

Another good thing about the early shift is the lack of uptight managers. None of them want to wake up before ten, so you’re safe to lean and lounge while waiting for customers.

A call comes through your earpiece after a few customers, nearing the cusp of 8am.

”Hey, we’ve got the guy coming your way,” your head cash – Lisa – says, voice crackling in the mic. The guy is a rude jerkoff, some contractor who thinks abusing staff is the way to get good service and better prices.

What’s worse is that your managers allow it. In fact, you get warnings like this all the time. The guy is here, the guy has a big order, make sure to cash him out fast or he’ll start shouting. Be pleasant. Smile.

The guy is walking down the store lumber aisle with a pinched expression on his face and two other employees dragging his stacked carts behind him.

You try to ignore his caustic vibes, thinking instead of the pink, purplish sunrise you’d seen earlier. Clouds like magic, cotton candy, floating above you 

You ignore the incessant tapping of his feet, the annoyed groan he makes when you lift a package of insulation up and find flat saw blades.

Sure, you can’t accuse him of stealing. But you can make a cheery, passive aggressive comment–

“Oops, I guess you forgot these!” you chirp, scanning them a little slower than necessary. It’s not mature, but it does make you feel a little better. Nice try, bozo.

Playing the idiot cashier helps with these types. Why are you mad, sir? I’m just a cashier? And though you could answer more questions than you do, you don’t. Playing the ditz makes life easy.

Lisa’s definitely judged you for it, but hey. She’s not stuck at the register like you are.

Sometimes, it works. You get a scowl, but they’ll go quiet. Sometimes.

Today, it backfires.

“Excuse me?” 

Oh here we go, you think. It’s way too early for this.

“What was that, sir?” you play dumb, voice squeaking.

“Are you accusing me of stealing?” his volume raises. You see redness crawling up his neck. Fuck.

“No, no, I only meant–” you try to backtrack. Fuck, fuck. This is the result of your hubris. Your reasoning flies out through the massive lumber area doors as his rage climbs.

“No? No? Because I think you just accused me of stealing. Do you understand how much I spend here, you moron?”

“I do, I didn’t mean to imply–”

“Get me a fucking manager, now,” he snaps. God, you have no clue if he acts like this to get his way, to get discounts, or if he’s really this angry half the time he comes in.

Regardless, the effect is real. You’ve never been good with anger, and you’re shaking a little as you press the call button on your pager.

“C-Can I please have a manager down to lumber cash?” you broadcast to the store.

All you can think of is looking away from his angry gaze while you wait. Oh, a bubble bath – you have an aloe and green tea bubble bath packet at home waiting for you.

Hot water. Bubble bath. Manager to fix this mess. Maybe a hot chocolate after work?

A couple minutes pass. Longest minutes of your life.

No answer. The guy taps his foot, sighing loudly, angrily. You try again.

“Can I please have a manager down to lumber cash?”

Oh fuck, is that someone else in line? You turn away bodily, speaking again into your mic. Trying to look like you’re doing something about the wait.

Another couple minutes. Despair washes over you like a cold blanket of snow.

“Need a manager at lumber cash,” you try.

Typical, really. Lisa is likely on break, and you have no idea who’s managing the store at the moment.

You imagine it’s likely Cody, who’s good with contractors like this because he's personable but he’s also lazy it almost cancels out. Also, he takes a smoke break every 5 minutes.

And never takes his pager.

“What the fuck is taking so long?” you hear behind you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, turning. “My manager is busy at the moment but–”

“Busy?” his voice is like a gunshot in the airy space, an absurd volume for the time.

“Yes–”

“Do you know–”

A third voice cuts in.

“Think you better learn a little patience, mate,” British?

Oh, shit. It’s that guy from before. He’s got one hip a little cocked, a frown on his face like he’s smelled something bad. His boonie hat is titled down, nearly covering his eyes. You can see them because you’re shorter than he is.

“Excuse me? And who are you? Mind your business,” the guy says.

“I think you’d better let the nice girl check me out while you wait,” he motions for you towards the parallel cash desk, and you’re grateful to just follow.

You scurry away from the guy faster than is appropriate, calling out again as you cross the open space towards the other cash desk for a manager.

You can only hope they arrive while you’re helping this one. John Price, you think his name was. He's a memorable man. Him and his moustache and his expensive company.

John Price has left the guy flabbergasted. He also has twice as many carts as him, and when your eyes widen to see them he just says take your time in a smooth, deep voice.

Oh man.

You do take your time, already calmer for John’s presence. Strange maybe to feel safe in the company of a stranger, a contractor no less, but it’s a nice change of pace.

Beep, beep. You scan methodically. John has no hidden items, and he doesn’t pressure you. He leans up against his lumber order and watches you check underneath things, under the cart, doing everything you’re trained to do.

“Start early?” he asks.

“Hm?” you lift your head. “Oh, yes. 6am.”

He whistles.

“Hard worker, I see,” he helps you lift a heavy bag of concrete.

“Thank you,” Marx look away, you think. Your face is only a little hot.

Cody strolls in the lumber doors missing his apron and – you guessed it – his pager. You fix him with a look as he smiles in greeting.

“Need a manager when you’re free,” you rush. Cody is nice, but you’re kinda miffed now.

“Oh, sure,” he says, walking by you toward the breakroom.

John Price raises a brow.

“Not everyone’s up to the task, eh?”

You feel hot again.

“It’s just early.”

John smiles. He looks remarkably silly doing it, you think. His facial hair makes him look approachable, cuddly. Like a teddy bear.

John’s order totals double the guy, which isn’t really a victory for you but it feels like one. Ha! See, you aren’t the richest guy here. You feel vindicated. Cody looks miserable cashing him out, which makes you just a little guilty.

“Will that be cash or card?” you ask, finger hovering on the POS.

He pays with card. You certainly do not notice how he cradles the machine. You aren’t that down bad.

Only you are, and his fingers are huge. His knuckles are hairy.

When you go to hand him the receipts, printed twice for record keeping, he manages to slip a 50 into your hand before you notice.

“Oh, no! I’m not allowed to–”

He folds those big bear paws over your hand, enclosing the cash in it with a sh sh sh as you protest.

“For the trouble,” he winks.

“You didn’t give me any trouble,” you try. The warmth of his palm, the roughness of his calluses. You’re a goner.

He chuckles, and you wonder how he can be both so intense and so disarming.

“You know what I mean, sweetheart,” he squeezes your hand, pushing it gently back towards you until you can put it in your apron pocket.

“Thank you,” you squeeze out.

“Don’t let him get to you,” he says.

“I’ll try,” you thank God or the universe or whoever that Cody and the guy finished a while ago.

“Attagirl.”

Yeah, you’re a goner.

[io-lu-art]

*sighs* hello.

here, have some hurt/comfort reylo.

you're welcome.

[omegaversereloaded]

Oldhead take from a young soul but cars really shouldn't have touchscreen functions for the driver's use

[gallusrostromegalus]

Well. This is a Shitshow. Literally.

So if you've been following this blog, you will know that recently, I moved house. Nearly everything has been great- the location is already improving some of the mental and physical health issues I've been having, the animals love it.

BUT SOMEONE LIED

We went through literally a dozen home inspectors to prevent this from happening, but there's no preventing someone acting in Bad Faith, and turns out that the seller just... straight-up lied to us about an issue the sewer inspector pointed out and may have submitted fake paperwork saying they had it fixed.

It is very much Not Fixed :) There is raw sewage in my basement :)

The problem IS fixable, and I am not in danger, but this is going to cost a hell of a lot of money. We're already exploring legal options for a settlement*, the plumbing company we're working us gave us some really generous discounts and financing, but the fact of the matter is, this is going to cost $17,000 that I Do Not Have Right Now :)

*A settlement/lawsuit is not terribly likely to actually result in money because CO's legal protections for home-buyers kinda suck, and also, I Do Not Have Money Right Now, so I cannot afford the lawyer necessary to do all the filing. Best-case scenario for a settlement is likely "Maybe half the cost of the repairs, deposited in your bank account two years from now".

So, I know shit's been going around lately, but if you can throw a few bucks my way, it will go a long way towards my safety and sanity and also Getting The Raw Sewage Out Of My Basement In a Timely Fashion.

Ko-fi Paypal Fundraiser (Ends 4/20/23)

Thank you for your help, and I deeply, sincerely hoping that you are having a better day than I am.

[valtsv]

just did something so maladaptive that the only commentary i could come up with to describe my own behavior was "nice trauma response did your parents pick it for you"

[ruubesz-draws]

Looks like Minus One is finally meeting Santa Claus!

It's the Choo-Choo or the extinction of humanity. Choose wisely...

Kong did the right thing by giving him the Choo-Choo

All Godzillas love Choo-Choos!!!

Merry Christmas guys!🎄

[thethunderthedragonfruit]

need-to-know basis

when chromedome backed up brainstorm's lie about being forged was he being a true bestie or did he genuinely not know. this haunts me

[800db-cloud]

What HCs do you have for GentleSpy? He's one of my top favorites

*tips fedora* m’pardon

i’ve always liked gentle, but i started to REALLY like him around last month-ish? yes i dooo believe in my heart that gentle is the red spy seen in brutal’s videos. i apologise in advance

ANYWAY but back to gentle: i like him a lot! i saw him depicted with his sleeves rolled up once (1) and i decided yeah. that’s how i’m going to draw him forever now (it was one of crispcr4p’s videos, iirc!)

some other tidbits i have for him are: his Rose motif is sort-of meant to parallel (my) Polite’s Buttercup motif! i don’t hc them as related at all, but they’re practically counterparts so it only felt right. another hc i have for him is a sort-of other catchphrase i made up for him in my head. i imagine he likes asking others “Where are your manners?” if they maybe try to attack/fight him, or if they speak rudely to him. sort of in a way to demean or mock them!

gentle is a smug and cocky prick who masks it with being a “gentleman” to me. i love this for him. i wonder where he got this from

*: nobody other than Brutal, of course!